


A Little Bird

by Heavyheadedgal



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Birthday Surprises, Gen, Jack being Jack, Mac being grumpy, Phryne being sneaky, bonding over whisky, post 3x08
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-08
Updated: 2016-07-08
Packaged: 2018-07-22 09:02:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7428496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heavyheadedgal/pseuds/Heavyheadedgal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mac is working late, and Jack has a surprise up his sleeve.  A fic for Electriceell's birthday -- hope you have a great one!</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Little Bird

**Author's Note:**

  * For [electriceell](https://archiveofourown.org/users/electriceell/gifts).



Mac took off her spectacles and pinched the bridge of her nose. She had enough vanity to be glad she didn’t need to wear them consistently; but they were necessary when she worked late into the night. Glancing at her watch, she realized it was getting very late indeed.

She stood up from her work bench and shrugged out of her lab coat. She could no longer put off the inevitable: it was time to go home to her cold flat. She missed Phryne like hell. Mac would have rather spent this particular evening at the Wardlow, gossiping, eating Mr. Butler’s fine cuisine, listening to the latest jazz records. Or Phryne would have treated her to champagne, down at Marie’s, by the docks. But Phryne was in England. And ever since Daisy...Mac hadn’t felt like celebrating much of anything. Work was always a welcome distraction, and at least the morgue was peaceful.

The peace was interrupted by a knock. Mac turned, surprised to see Inspector Robinson leaning in the doorway.

“I saw your light was still on,” he remarked.

“If you’re after that toxicology result, you’ll have to wait,” Mac replied. “It’ll be ready when it’s ready.” She lifted her tweed jacket off the coat rack.

“Actually, I came to ask for a second opinion.”

“Tricky case?”

“It’ll only take a moment, if you don’t mind stopping by my office on your way out.”

“Burning the midnight oil, Inspector?” she asked him, as she locked her office door and followed him down the corridor.

“No rest for the wicked,” he replied amiably.

When they reached his office, Mac flopped into what she privately considered to be Phryne’s chair. She took the folder Jack handed her and flipped to the crime scene photographs, studying them. Jack rummaged in a desk drawer, producing a bottle, two tumblers, and a large biscuit tin.

“Care for a dram?” he asked, proffering the bottle.

Mac looked at the label and whistled. “Glenfiddich! Don’t mind if I do.”

Jack passed her a tumbler and took a sip of his drink. “So, what do you think of the case?”

Mac shrugged, tossing the file back onto the desk, and taking a moment to roll the smooth liquor on her tongue. She hummed with contentment as the warmth spread through her tired bones. “Don’t know why you need a second opinion on a point-blank shot to the head. Seems pretty open and shut to me.”

“Well. A second pair of eyes never hurts.”

They sipped their drinks quietly for a moment, before Mac asked, “What’s in the tin? Forget your dinner?”

Jack shook his head, opening the lid. “Mrs. Collins had some leftovers she was kind enough to share. Care to help me out?” He lifted out a lump of waxed paper, unwrapping it to reveal two slices of lemon poppy seed cake.

Mac narrowed her eyes doubtfully. “Well...” Her stomach chose that moment to rumble loudly. Jack bit back a grin. “Who am I to argue with my stomach?” Mac shrugged, and reached for the cake.

They ate in a peaceful, relaxed silence. Mac was pleasantly surprised by how comfortable she felt, with the Inspector for company. Little wonder Phryne was so gone on him. As finished her cake, she reviewed the situation, her suspicions growing.

Wiping her fingers on her handkerchief, she decided to cut straight to the point. “All right, who blabbed?”

“Pardon?” Jack looked up from tidying away the wax paper.

“Come off it, Inspector. You just happen to invite me round for a glass of my favourite whisky and a slice of my favourite cake on my birthday. I wasn’t born yesterday.” Mac crossed her arms and glared at him.

Jack’s face was a picture of innocence. “Is it your birthday? Many happy returns.” He saluted her with his tumbler.

Mac wasn’t giving up. “It was Phryne, wasn’t it?”

Jack studied his whisky. “A little bird told me.”

“This bird happen to carry a gold pistol and a pilot’s license?”

“Botany is my area, Doctor, not wildlife.” Jack was smiling openly now.

Mac shook her head. “If she’s got you organizing long distance birthday surprises, I think you better call me Mac.”

“Fair enough, “Jack laughed.

“How is our favourite aviatrix?” Mac asked. “I haven’t had a letter from her in over a month.”

“Her telegram last week seemed cheerful enough. Hard to tell from a wire.” He held up the bottle with a questioning expression, and Mac passed her glass over for a top up.

“She always was a terrible correspondent. And you, Inspector?”

“Ah, now,” Jack raised a finger, “If I can’t call you Doctor, you can’t call me Inspector.”

“Jack, then. How are things between the two of you?”

Jack shifted in his chair, avoiding her eyes. “Doc--Mac, I really don’t think—“

“If she gets to interfere in my life, I get to interfere in hers,” Mac interrupted. Two slugs of whisky on a nearly empty stomach made her blunt. “You’ve had a face like a wet weekend ever since she left. What’s going on?”

Jack sighed, and looked at her with a sombre expression. “She asked me to follow her.”

Mack nearly choked on her drink. She stared at him, gobsmacked. “Then what the bloody hell are you still doing here?”

Jack looked somewhat chagrined. “It’s not as easy as simply buying a ticket on the next steamer out of the harbour.”

“To hell with easy! If it were easy there’d be no point. This is Phryne Fisher we’re talking about.” _How could such an intelligent man be so bloody stupid_ , she marvelled.

“I know,” Jack replied, a misty look in his eyes.

Mac groaned. “Christ. Jack Robinson, if you don’t follow that woman wherever the hell she wants to go, I will personally certify you as mentally unsound.”

Jack grinned at her. “Why Mac, are you giving me your blessing?”

“I’m giving you an order.” She and Phryne had been to hell and back together. If Phryne wanted this man, she’d put the idiot on the damn boat herself.

“That’s settled, then.” Jack raised his glass in a toast. “To you, Mac.”

“To Phryne,” Mac countered, lifting hers.

Jack tilted his head, considering. “To intelligent women, perhaps?”

“I’ll drink to that,” Mac smiled, and knocked back her whisky.  

 


End file.
